Page 28 of Pack Frenzy
NEXUS REMOTE CHECK-IN – 19:00 flashes on the screen.
My stomach tightens. “That’s us,” I say, pushing off the counter. “Five-minute compliance call. Low drama, hopefully.”
Jess goes still, mug halfway to her mouth. “They’re… watching already?”
“They call it ‘ongoing support,’” I say, because that’s the script. “Just answer what they ask. I’ll handle the rest.”
I tap the screen. A Nexus logo spins, then resolves into a woman in a slate-gray blazer, hair scraped back so tight it probably has clearance levels. Her badge catches the light.
“Is Omega Jessica Mancini present?” she asks without greeting.
Jess’s jaw flexes. She steps into frame beside me. “Present.”
The woman’s gaze flicks over her like she’s checking a box. “Any incidents, injuries, or emergent heat symptoms since transfer from Nexus?”
“No,” Jess says. “No incidents. No injuries. No Heat.”
The woman’s eyes cut to me. “Mr. Mercado?”
“Stable,” I confirm. “Adjustment within expected parameters.”
“Visual confirmation of tracking device,” she says. “Camera down, please.”
I angle the tablet toward Jess’s ankle. The monitor’s green light blinks steady against her skin.
“Model V-9, tamper-sensor active.” The woman nods to herself, already bored. “Unit is water-resistant to full submersion and impact-rated. Showers, baths, and swimming are permitted. Any sign of swelling, bruising, or attempted removal will flag on our end.”
Jess’s toes curl against the tile. “So I can’t even accidentally take it off,” she mutters.
“That device ensures your safety and the integrity of your placement,” the woman replies, like she’s read that line a thousand times. “If you request, we can schedule a follow-up home visit and psychological assessment. Until then, we’ll check back at the end of the month. Any questions?”
Jess shakes her head. Then the Nexus woman asks Cassian and Rowan a few routine questions.
“So you all agree to continue the ninety-day trial?”
“Yes,” we answer.
“Any further questions?”
“No,” I say.
“Jess?” the woman prods.
“Nope. We’re good here.”
“Very well. Nexus appreciates your cooperation.” The feed cuts before either of us can answer.
Silence stretches for a beat.
Jess stares at the blank screen, then down at the monitor blinking on her ankle. “Waterproof, huh,” she says quietly. “Nice to know even the ocean can’t shake them. When did they install these puppies?”
“About six years ago,” I say. “Before I started.”
Something in her expression flickers—confirmation or a fear she already had. I want to tell her she’s not property, that the hardware doesn’t get the final say—but the words taste like a lie with that green light staring back at us.
So instead, I reach for the kettle, pour myself another inch of tea I don’t need, and change the subject.
“We’ve got time to kill,” I say, forcing my shoulders to loosen. Jess still looks like she’s waiting for someone to tell her what to do with it.
